#FUCKING FINALLY IVE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG AND ITS FINALLY HERE JUST A LITTLE

[iznsfw]

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself. 

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung. 

It’s all because of her. 

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation. 

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it. 

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do. 

hey, it reads, you need to—

-

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it. 

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands. 

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together. 

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth. 

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours. 

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin. 

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look. 

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane. 

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?” 

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to. 

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection. 

Deception can’t lead you away. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?” 

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart. 

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve. 

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for. 

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder. 

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.” 

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin. 

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You. 

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that. 

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger. 

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right. 

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service. 

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already. 

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her. 

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game. 

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.” 

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.” 

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected. 

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too. 

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity. 

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again. 

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction. 

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways. 

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you. 

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you. 

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers. 

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs. 

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care. 

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes. 

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff. 

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent. 

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung. 

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down. 

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open. 

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good. 

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore. 

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both. 

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?” 

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips. 

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had. 

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect. 

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking. 

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker. 

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

-

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some. 

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too. 

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting. 

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

#kpop smut #smut #kpop fanfic #fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction #izone smut #ive smut #jang wonyoung smut #wonyoung smut #izone wonyoung smut #ive wonyoung smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #idol x reader #idol x male reader #female idol x reader #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #pov smut #kofimission #commission #iz days of christmas #iz days of christmas day 12 #iz days of christmas 2023

[pinionpartridge]

Endwalker is making me s c r e a m

#i deleted my final fantasy blog so i am posting here #i got addicted to ff again bc i remade my character and also made him an OC and also remade my old character as an OC and- #-i am seperately obsessed with them and have been playing again which makes me more insane which in turn makes me play more #the story of this game is so fucjing good it inspires me to write MORE batshit long plot stories #and im in love #kingdom hearts n final fantasy are like. why everything i Make Is Like That #my friends must hate me <3 they listen anyways i love them so much #anyways SCREAMS ENDWALKER IS SO FUCKING GOD IM GONNA REPLAY THROUGH THE GAME ONCE I FINISH MAYBE SWEAR TO GOD AAAAAAA I #baby adventurer time i wanna relive the whole story again #this game makes me start cryinf #i probably have a horrible horrible hyperfixation ive been playing for 6 years #i used to dedicate so much focus to the game and wanted to learn everything and do everything and play everything #am insane!!! i am insane!!!! #PLAY FFXIV IF YOU LIKE MMOS I THINK ITS FUCKING INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU

[seattlesellie]

PLS PLS PLS loser!ellie sucking tits and nipples and going HAM on it and also thigh or arm riding 😭😭 I LOVE UR WRITING SM IT MADE ME INSANE

omg anon love u <3 i know that loser!ellie could almost cum from sucking on ur tits :( shes been thinking about them 4 so looooong

i can imagine this as like, being yours and ellies first time together <3 its a sweltering afternoon, and youre sitting on ellies lap, after heavily making out for half an hour, her face flushed and cheeks so so warm. shes panting, bucking her hips slowly and deeply, forcing you down so you can grind on her, and shes so so nervous about it but so pent up, because fucking finally; her hand down her boxers and your instagram feed open on her phone never made her feel this fucking good. every night, she would grind on her hand, push two fingers in, and whisper your name while imagining what your tits must look like beneath those clothes. it was her dirty, little daily habit. shed stare when you werent looking, and then go take a breather in the bathroom because her palms started getting sweaty and her clit started pumping like a second heartbeat. she just couldnt face you :( she truly wanted to focus, wanted to act like a normal human being, but couldnt. act cool, shed whisper to herself after rubbing cold tapwater on her face. it never fucking worked, because thinking about your nipples poking through your shirt just clouded her mind hazy. she could never just “act cool”

and now youre here, and fuck, she wants to take your shirt off so, so bad. her trembling hands start crawling up your waist, tracing small circles with her thumb, coming dangerously close to where she wants them the most. she looks at you with this questioning look, so starved and perverted. do you know? ellie thought to herself. do you know how long shes been wanting to do this?

when she sees you smile softly, and notices how flustered you look as well, because shes not alone in this, she asks you a simple “can i?” with a husky, doubtful tone. she’s desperate, how could you ever say no?

you guide her hand, slowly but surely, to cup your breast, just above your bra… and fuck, she grunts. her hand, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world, squeezes your tit forcefully. you cant help but whimper, so she looks up at you, mouth parted, shes fucking soaked. that was the most beautiful thing shes ever heard in the world.

“d…- you” she stutters, her breaths short and uneven, chest rising up and down. shes speechless. she wants to slap herself, tell herself to get a fucking grip… but its ellie were talking about. so she just bucks her hips forward, grazing her cunt over yours. she finally manages to grow some balls and says - “do you know how long ive wanted to see you like this?”

a full sentence. no stuttering. she wants to pat her own back.

that ends you. you quickly take your shirt off, and then un-clasp your bra, your tits completely spilling out in front of her. ellie swore she drooled all over her shirt. but she wasnt that much of a loser. she just froze.

“touch them” you say, theyre all hers. you need this just as bad as she does.

“fffuck” she grunts, and then she just, fucking latches on to them. her hand catches your left tit, kneading it between her fingers, and her hot, wet, sleazy mouth starts forcefully sucking your right tit, in and out, and in and out again. she doesnt think shes breathing, because she’s practically suffocating on your tits. the noises that leave her mouths are obscene, her mouth latching off, and then latching on again with loud pop sounds. she looks like an animal, almost. she thrusts her hips forward, she doesnt even know shes doing it, because the only thing on her mind is your fucking tits, and how pretty and puffy your nipples look, how good they taste, how bad she wants to shove your face into a pillow while grinding her cunt on your sensitive nipples and squeeze her sleek cum all over them. shes pretty sure she might cum just from the undone zipper of her stupid jeans hitting her clit, and fuck, when did she even unzip them?

it feels so fucking good, and it tickles, and then hurts a little, shes squeezing and sucking, and then she just growls while panting harshly :( “fucking” suck tits suck gonna make me fucking cum

jeez, ellie… maybe ur not that big of a loser

#anon 🎀 #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x you #made her pervy too

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. 

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.” 

 It was just a kiss. 

“Green Four check.” 

 It was just a-

“Green Five check.” 

Just a-

“Green Six check.” 

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.” 

It wasn’t just a kiss. 

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron. 

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad. 

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons. 

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne. 

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure. 

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide. 

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them. 

Simple. 

In theory. 

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy. 

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going? 

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice. 

You swallow. 

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart. 

I hadn’t just been a kiss. 

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline. 

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that. 

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead. 

It made a lot more sense. 

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own. 

They had always been close. Always. Best friends. 

Sickness bubbled in your throat. 

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it. 

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander. 

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?” 

Hank chortled. 

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist. 

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you. 

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?” 

Yeah. Now you had. 

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains. 

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet. 

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter. 

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch. 

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss. 

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence. 

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons. 

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands. 

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next. 

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed. 

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.” 

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname. 

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you. 

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.” 

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’ 

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on. 

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal. 

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay. 

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures. 

“Fuck.” 

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled. 

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!” 

“How far away is the Delta?” 

“Calling in attack pattern!” 

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game. 

That didn’t bode well. 

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction. 

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on. 

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!” 

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process. 

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?” 

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down. 

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard. 

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns. 

Good. 

But there’s so, so many of them. 

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems. 

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together. 

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing. 

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear. 

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through. 

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on. 

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter. 

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home. 

Frizz.

“No…” 

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal. 

Nothing. 

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz. 

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes. 

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist. 

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity. 

All you need is…

Another alarm. 

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!” 

A chorus of yells answer you. 

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely. 

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard. 

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot. 

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist. 

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected. 

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons. 

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull. 

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it. 

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact. 

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell. 

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire. 

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational. 

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on. 

Two chances left. 

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits. 

Poe shouts for you over the intercom. 

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will. 

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call. 

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit. 

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it. 

The canon doesn’t go down. 

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him. 

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do. 

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard. 

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down. 

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out- 

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

.

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream. 

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain. 

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob. 

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit. 

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it. 

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide. 

Make it look like you had a weapon. 

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning. 

Can’t let them take you alive. 

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down. 

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull  yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot. 

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue. 

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

.

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear. 

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds. 

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use. 

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back. 

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good. 

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?” 

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper. 

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-” 

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.” 

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe. 

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.” 

You snort. 

He smiles. 

“Who did we lose?” 

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment. 

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red. 

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages. 

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes. 

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.” 

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away. 

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?” 

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.” 

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?” 

You nod. 

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart. 

“You pushed her away?” 

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…” 

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.” 

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes. 

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head. 

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating. 

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly. 

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.” 

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight. 

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins. 

You scoff. 

“You are.” He kisses you again. 

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home. 

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.” 

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.” 

You touch his cheek lightly. 

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?” 

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.” 

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper. 

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance. 

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted. 

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart. 

____________________________________

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[manicpixiefelix]

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

1/2: i'm gonna talk you through it [SMUT]

Summary: You're the daughter of one of Henrys, and known to be a snobby, entitled Princess of a woman; neither Venetia nor Felix seems to like you. Farleigh, however, claims that you and he have an ongoing arrangement. Felix says that arrangement is that you and Farleigh bitch together, then fuck like wild animals every time you hang out. Turns out you're even bitchier in person, and after a cruel joke played on Oliver by you and Farleigh at the Henrys dinner, he decides to take a bit of power back. Not that it goes as intended... nor that it goes completely wrong.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (F receiving), dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, demeaning talk, bondage & restraints, explicit discussions around safewords (it does happen a little bit into the action but before anything major), pet name used for the reader "princess"

A/N: 4730 words. okay turns out i can write pwp. i cut out like 1.5k of background and you get the gist of it in the summary. there will be a part 2 thats heavy on the smut, but this trio takes a while to set anything up because they can't stop arguing. hints of farleigh/oliver. this was a lot of fun but again i can't stress how long its been since ive written full, proper smut, so id really appreciate feedback. <3 unedited, i love you.

{ masterpost : 1/2 }

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Fucking Farleigh Start. Oliver feels the fury as it burns and bubbles inside of him, stalking quietly through the halls of Saltburn. There, at the end of the hall, Farleigh's bedroom door, quiet and unassuming, and right next to it, Oliver's target; your door. Farleigh isn't the only one in the house who can wrap people around his little finger; he isn't the only one in the house who can get the Princess to kneel.

Trying the handle, he finds it unlocked, and eases the old, wooden door open.

"Farleigh was right," upon hearing your voice, bright, amused, and very much awake in the dark, Oliver jumps, "you're an A-plus lurker, I didn't even hear you come in."

"Was a nasty thing you did to me tonight," Oliver tries to regain some of his composure, some of the ire he'd built up on the way here.

"So you've snuck into my room, I assume you assumed I was asleep, to- what, wake me up and berate me?" There's something smug and biting in your voice, something that fuels the fury coiling deep in his gut, "that doesn't sound like enough for someone like you, tricksie, little, pauper boy." When you start to move from where you've been sitting up in bed, crawling to the end to sit on your knees as the moonlight streaks through your window and finally paints you in sharp relief, he sees you're already nude.

But even your stunning body in the moonlight cannot compare to the look on your face, the sharp, hungry, mean amusement he's never seen a person wear so well.

"Go on then, shout," your eyes shine dangerously in the moonlight; "don't you want Farleigh to hear?" They might have been right. You might be the devil. Your smile gets wider, and Oliver can only watch, rather transfixed, as you start rolling your hips with purpose, "or do you want him to hear something else?" He hears, quietly at first, a soft tap, getting louder as you keep insistently thrusting against the air, against the mattress, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall behind it, the wall that you shared with Farleigh on the other side.

Then, all at once, you stopped. A loud, mean laugh is pulled from you as you pitch yourself back on the bed, kicking your legs out in front of you to hang off the edge, completely relaxed, completely exposed. You give a loud, amused sigh, looking up at the canopy of the four poster bed.

"God, you're such a little bitch, Oliver, Farleigh was so right," you snorted, "I was the one who actually saw you eating Venetia like your life depended on it, on the lawn of all places," you shook your head, "I don't know what you told Felix to get out of that one but I know what I saw," clicking your tongue, you raised your leg, pointing a foot at him, not even bothering to look at him, "now you won't even touch me in my own bedroom when I'm practically begging for it. I'm choosing to be offended about that; you've offended me, Oliver."

Slowly, your leg lowers, and you kick your heels idly against the end of the bed in the silence.

"Where do you get all your attitude from?" Oliver finally speaks, tone turning scornful as he approached you.

"The money," you fire back with ease, "which is why you always seem to have none." Then, in the furious silence that followed, you grinned sharply at the roof, still not bothering to look at him, "try harder."

When he touches your knee, his fingers gentle against your skin, you kick him hard in the thigh with your other foot -

"The fuck? Did you just kick me?"

"Yeah, and?" He can almost hear you rolling your eyes, "what did you think it was, the wind? Ghost of Grandma Catton?"

"Do you fuckin' want me or not?" He's still standing within kicking range, he learns too late. All the while you've never even looked at him, always looking at the ceiling, hands comfortably, casually behind your head. There's a smug grin on your lips now, something teasing and once more mean.

"Do you want me?" You respond, legs gliding open, an open invitation to your slick, moon-drenched cunt, "I thought you wanted to use me to get back at Farleigh," you said mockingly, finally looking up and meeting his deep, furious gaze. Propped up on your elbows, you give a grin that's all teeth, "wanted to show us who has the real power, that you can get us back for the stunt we pulled after dinner," you sat up further, intense, hungry amusement in your eyes that drew Oliver in to you, leaning in, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as you were almost nose to nose. Your voice lowers, gaze on his lips as your voice turns to almost a moan, "wanted to show Farleigh that you could take anything he thought was his; even me," and you start fake moaning, softly at first, but getting exponentially louder as you leaned back again, against the bed, arching and writhing from nothing, putting on a show that ended with you shouting - "Oliver's a fucking bitch!" At the top of your lungs, and cackling with glee.

Rage exploded within Oliver, and for a moment, overcome with a strange sense of betrayal at your demonstration, he smacks at your inner thigh with all the might he can muster. He can tell it stings, your laughter stops for just a moment, leg flinching up for just a second, but then you're laughing harder if possible.

"Your first mistake - of many - was letting her talk at all," Farleigh's voice from the door is frankly annoyed. You, however, gasp with delight, sitting directly up and looking at Farleigh with absolute glee.

"That's not his fault, I wasn't going to tell him," you pointed out, before looking down at your thighs, and Oliver's hands still on them, and the part of you that must have still stung from the slap, "why is your grip so soft?" You looked up at him with a derisive expression, and immediately Oliver's grip on you goes tight, nails digging into your skin; you're fucking laughing at him again, still, "awe, you're getting there -"

"Could you stop that already?" Oliver leans in, scowling at you. Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, you grinned with devilish intent.

"Stop what?"

"All that fuckin' talking you're doing."

"I don't know, can I -?" But then out of seemingly nowhere, Farleigh sits himself down at the end of the bed next to you, flush against your side. He's still in his crisp, white shirt, and black slacks, looking so put together next to your brash nudity. When his hand comes up to your jaw, barely two fingers beneath your chin to guide you, to have you looking him in the eyes, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Both he and Oliver can see how badly you want to laugh, to make any kind of sound, but you hold yourself back.

"Okay, your fucking highness," Farleigh's voice is low and dangerous, full of warning, and Oliver sees you take a sharp breath in, gaze fixed on Farleigh's, "you don't get shit from either of us if you can't keep your dirty mouth closed." Though you nod adamantly, you puff out your cheeks, amusement in your eyes as you're clearly desperate to say something; "what?" Farleigh frowns.

"I have really bad news for you about what I have to do to suck dick," you point out, trying to keep your composure. It's not working, giggles are escaping you at a rapid rate.

"You are testing nerves I didn't even know I had," Oliver admits, desperately trying to sink his nails into you as hard as he could. If he could draw blood, perhaps that would be enough penance for having to endure your infuriating company.

However, it's Farleigh who speaks, lip curling with frustration as he smacks Oliver's hand away from the thigh closest to him. With a solid grip on that thigh, he pulls you leg close to him, forcing your legs wider, exposing you further.

"Then do something about it," he practically orders, and something about the tone sparks a kind of indignation in his chest, "you need me to talk you through it?" He snaps. This, however, quickly turns smug and mean as Farleigh leans in, nose to nose with Oliver and his building frustration with them both; "you know how to eat pussy, right?"

"You should both be very careful what you wish for," Oliver's eyes flash with a dangerous confidence as he sank down on his knees between your legs. You, thrilled and delighted by how the situation was no unfolding, lay yourself back on the bed with contented laughter, hands coming to rest confidently behind your head once more.

Farleigh watches Oliver with intense scrutiny, and for reasons he's not quite sure of, Oliver meets his gaze, refuses to break eye contact. His hand moves first, no longer holding your left thigh, he digs his elbow into your soft inner thigh, bracing his arm against you, forcing your leg further open and keeping it that way, letting him comfortably rest his hand with his thumb on your clit.

"Smart boy," you hum appreciatively, shifting your hips back and forth a little as his thumb is rubbing circles against your clit, "knows where the start button is." He takes his thumb off of you, much to your confusion. His gaze is still locked with Farleigh's. "Fucking hell, are you tired already -?" You sat up on your elbows, scowling at him, but Oliver looks sharply to you.

"Weren't you listening to Farleigh, princess?" Oliver asks, and there's something so deliciously satisfying about the look of flustered surprise on your face in this moment. Beside you, Farleigh huffs a laugh to himself and stands, pulling off his tie. Oliver's full attention, however, is still trained on your. Slowly, as he speaks, he again begins to rub circles against your clit, teasing, never enough proper pressure to be satisfying.

"I -" you started, but he immediately stopped again; out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver sees Farleigh's approving nod. Something about this all has his blood rushing in his fucking ears. You press your lips together, giving him a now expectant look, as if here, I've done what you've asked.

You're so wet, so wanting, ready and waiting, right thigh inching closer, leg curling around him, heel pressing insistently into his back. God you look so fucking good, he wants nothing more than to eat you like a man starving, tasting every inch of you -

"Give me your belt," Farleigh interrupts, and Oliver pauses, mouth literally an inch from your cunt, looking up at Farleigh like he can't quite believe him right now.

"Farleigh!" You exclaim with utter frustration, right leg lashing out to kick him, but he grabs your ankle and holds it tightly. With his free hand he makes an expectant, grabby hand at Oliver.

"Belt, now please." He practically orders.

"Use your own belt, Farleigh," Oliver nods to the belt Farleigh had just tossed to the side of the room, and Farleigh gives him a thin, unamused smile.

"Mine's nicer, and I don't want your cum on it," he explained with a mean, humourless smile. Oliver sat back for a long, furious moment, undoing his belt. The minute his hands were off of you, you tried to whine, but Farleigh, now just in his boxers, sat further up the bed beside you.

"This is overkill, I'll be good," you pouted, twisting to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him with as pleading eyes as you could manage.

"You're not even being good right now," he pointed out; "both your thighs are over Oliver's fucking shoulders, and you haven't gone thirty seconds without saying something," but clearly you're pleased and flustered at being called out. Farleigh says your name more insistently, and you try and play innocent before he practically orders, "get your fucking legs off of him!" Like he can't quite believe you're still trying these tricks, even though you both seem comfortable in this dynamic.

"Oliver~" Farleigh then practically sings like a warning, gaze turning much colder as it falls back on Oliver himself, "where are we with that belt?"

"What's it for anyways?" Oliver finally pulls his belt free, awkwardly half throwing it to Farleigh, who does actually thank him, before his attention is back on you, bare and warm and wet and - "princess," he says suddenly before Farleigh can even answer his initial question, looking up, and you make a noise of acknowledgement, "you want me to touch you like I mean it, then keep your legs spread like you actually fucking want it," voice going low and sharp, immediately you widen your legs as best you can.

"Oh, he's good," Farleigh says, surprisingly appreciatively, watching as Oliver makes a meal of you.

Finally, finally, Oliver's mouth is on you, tongue gliding playfully along your slit, his nose continually bumping his thumb as it continues to work your clit, firmer this time. You hips wriggle and roll with him, desperate for more, growing frustrated with his teasing lightness.

"The belt can be for several things," Farleigh began, matter-of-factly as he began to loop the belt through itself, focusing on his task at hand, "if she insists on closing her legs, I'm not above using both belts to make sure she keeps them open - this bedframe's especially good for that -" a hot spike of desire passes through Oliver all at once, picturing you bound and open and begging -

"Oh, don't joke about that Farleigh, come on, you know I love that -" you actually whimpered, but Oliver, still keeping in mind the earlier warning, once more stops entirely. You gasp, as if betrayed, before remembering for yourself, actually whining, "you guys fucking suck," you whimper petulantly. For a moment, Oliver wonders if he really aught to be here, if this strange, psychosexual encounter was really worth it.

"You're fucking loving this," Farleigh countered without a moment of hesitation, saying it with such confidence that it almost surprised Oliver, "you just hate that you can't shut the fuck up for any amount of time, and that Oliver isn't actually as much of a little bitch as you thought," clearing his throat, Farleigh cast an evaluative look, before trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, "as either of us thought, I guess."

A moment of quiet stillness passes, and Oliver looks to you, face scrunched up with embarrassment, as all of Farleigh's words apparently rang true.

"Are you hourly, Oliver?" Farleigh then scowls, much to Oliver's confusion. Farleigh looks at him like he's a downright idiot, "the princess is actually being quiet, which means..." he trailed off pointedly. Oliver sat back on his heels, frowning at Farleigh for a long moment, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You, yet again growing incredibly unsatisfied, groaned into your hands.

"Not if you're gonna talk to me like that," Oliver takes a deep breath, sitting tall, gaze unflinching as he meets Farleigh's sneering gaze.

"Then fuck off, Little Orphan Ollie, we don't need you," he spits, "you should really feel lucky that you even got this far -"

"You're all talk, Farleigh," Oliver, with a newfound confidence, and his hands on you, rubbing small, gentle circles against your inner thighs with his thumbs. Farleigh's eyes narrow, but Oliver's smile turns knowing, "I know you can throw her around, and tie her up, and give her orders, clearly," he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, gaze slipping to you, to where you've still got your face covered by your hands, "but we both know no-one can speak for her, but her."

The faint, frustrated whimpering that had been escaping you this entire time goes dead silent. Oliver feels the way you go very still. Farleigh, realising what Oliver meant, also turned to look at you properly.

"'s your bedroom, princess," Oliver leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh, murmuring softly against your skin, "what do you think?"

"I think you're edging each other with psychosexual, power-play, bullshit-banter that's doing fucking nothing for me," you snap behind your hands, "and I'm gonna start kicking people again very soon," you warned. Farleigh rolled his eyes.

"Sit up," he sighed.

"No."

"Make a choice," Oliver told you, tone firmer this time.

"Also no." Your voice was sounding particularly petulant, and you even brought your knees together, closing yourself off in front of Oliver. After a long, vaguely irate silence, Farleigh takes a deep breath.

"Is something wrong? Are we at a yellow light? Red light?" He asks, tone far gentler, he leans over, fingers gentle against your hairline by your fingertips.

"Light... colours?" Oliver asks with genuine confusion. Farleigh is far less patient when he turns on Oliver, like he's frustrated to even be explaining this.

"Like a traffic light; instead of a safety word like pineapple, we have green - go, yellow - slow down, red - stop," said like he wanted to include duh, obviously on the end, but refrained, turning back to you.

"And... they're for her?" Intrigued and surprisingly endeared by the concept, Oliver leans forward with a little smile, resting his chin on one of your knees, looking between yourself and Farleigh. He watches you sigh, even with your hands over your face.

"How do you not know how safe words work? What kind of sex have you been having?" Farleigh's judgemental tone hits Oliver square in the chest, but before he can even answer, you finally sit up, expression wide and overwhelmed with frustration.

"Farleigh look at him; he's like if they made repression a person! He's been having the most boring, vanilla sex known to man - if any - and getting off in his spare time to things that would make God cry. Look him in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong -" Farleigh's gaze flicked to Oliver, who suddenly felt himself begin to flush scarlet, and had to sit back again, frowning at his hands. There was something about the shame at being so concisely called out that was... thrilling. Something about how clearly you could see through him, through his persona to the raw want at his very core, it was freeing. You sat up further, with purpose, grabbing Oliver's chin so roughly it shocked him, forcing him to look in your eyes for a long moment.

"You came in here with purpose thinking I was asleep; creepy, hot, deranged; I'm into it," you told him sternly, "I literally could not care less about you otherwise, you're nothing to me the rest of the time. You came here to put me in my place, I don't want you here if you can't do that." Fucking hell, Oliver can feel his heartbeat racing as you shove his face away, your expression almost bordering on disgust.

"So you're..." Farleigh, as if frustrated by this little tirade you saw fit to go on, was unimpressed as he once more checked in.

"Green light, obviously," you threw your hands into the air in exasperation, "it's like you've never met me before -" but before you can slump back against the bed like you so clearly wanted to, Farleigh catches you, shifts behind you to prop you up.

"You're a brat," Oliver says, finally finding the words for the dynamic, and rather charmed by it all. Still, Farleigh has to get a word in edgewise.

"How long 'd it take you to figure that out?" He muttered sarcastically, doing something behind your back while you made a show of struggling and wiggling, refusing to keep your left arm with whatever he was doing.

"So," Oliver clarified, testing out the code, "green light?" You grinned at him, giving a pleased nod. Farleigh, finally having caught your left hand seemingly for good, reiterates the statement distractedly. Then, with a sense of triumph and relief, he pulls the belt, and his makeshift handcuffs, tight.

"Why are you still dressed?" You ask Oliver sharply. You may have had a point, but the game was back on. With your hands secured, Farleigh sat back behind you on the bed, pulling you flush to him, arms secured and pressed between the two of you that was just edging on uncomfortable.

"Why are you still talking?" He mutters into your ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand coming to wrap over your mouth, while his other curled around your middle, pulling your legs apart, wasting no time in dipping two long, elegant fingers into you. Your eyes light up, gasping against his hand as the two of you watch with lust in your eyes as Oliver begins to undress.

"The belt," Farleigh's voice has that lazy kind of smugness that Oliver usually hated, but now kind of makes his head fuzzy and kind of like he wants to sink his teeth into him, "is to keep the princess in her place, because someone," he says pointedly, not that you seem to notice; your eyes are closed, and Farleigh's thumb is on your clit while the fingers he has inside of you curl lovingly into your sweet spot, "manages to escape every pair of padded handcuffs either of us have ever bought," he explains, turning his attention back to Oliver, "and she complains about metal handcuffs, and zip ties, has undone every rope knot I've ever tied, and ruined every single tie I've ever tried to tie her up with."

"I bought you new ones," your voice is faint, half a moan muffled behind Farleigh's hand, and Oliver, still unsure of how to respond to any of that, finally turns back to the two of you on the bed. There's something desperate about the way you're arching against Farleigh's firm hold on you, legs having fallen open as your hips rolled in time with his fingers, lewd and needy. But Farleigh's eyes are only on Oliver, watching him with hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze roaming over Oliver's physique.

At the sound of your voice, Farleigh's gaze meets Oliver's his smile widening just a touch before he stops entirely. A desperate keening is pulled from you, hips shifting for friction, for anything, as Farleigh rests his hand on your thigh, fingers slick, practically dripping with you.

"No, I'll be good," you whimper, eyes fluttering, half closed, "I'll be -" you were already breathing heavy, "so so good."

"Hear that?" Farleigh murmurs with a vindictive little smile, hand uncovering your mouth, moving to hold your chin, your mouth falling open in a moan as his nails scratch up your thighs. Oliver advances on you both, entranced by the sight of you both, desperate to have a taste, to play along.

"Think she even knows how to be good?" Oliver teases, once more between your thighs. Still, instead of giving you the same kind of proper relief that Farleigh had been offering, he starts out gentle once more.

"Oliver, you're so cruel," you whimper. Farleigh's hand moves from your jaw to wrap around your middle, holding you secure, while the hand that had sat on your thigh moves to your open mouth, Oliver watches, rapt, as he slides both slick digits past your lips, but it shuts you up well enough, lips closing on his fingers as you diligently lap up your own taste from him.

"See, can't trust a word she says," Farleigh purrs. You bite gently on his fingers as you moan, Oliver finally deciding to do more than just tease you. Oliver's fingers are shorter than Farleigh's, but damn if they can't still hit the same high notes. Curling and pressing in a steady rhythm, he alternates dipping his tongue in as much as he can, and circling your clit. Farleigh's hand has moved from your mouth, spit slicked fingers pinching at your nipples, lightly dragging his nails across your skin, while he's started rolling his hips against your back, cock unbearably hard and still confined to his boxers, pressed against you.

You're whimpering and moaning in his ear, straining against your handcuffs, arching, writhing, but Oliver's holding your thighs still and secure and Farleigh is captivated by how enthusiastically he's going down on you, how its shining on his cheeks, his nose - he reaches out, cards his fingers through Oliver's hair. Oliver looks up through his lashes, a fucking gorgeous sight that you're too lost to appreciate. Just for Farleigh.

God he could say something snide, something about sloppy seconds or something about this being the most expensive meal he'll ever have, but he doesn't. He gives a sly, approving smile, and his grip on Oliver's hair tightens.

"Teeth and tongue," he tells Oliver quietly. Oliver doesn't seem to get it at first, but you choke out a whine, arching further into Farleigh, tipping your head against his.

"That's cheating," you gasped, but Farleigh kept running his fingers through Oliver's hair, whose mouth had never left your cunt, nor his eyes Farleigh's face, "you're helping him cheat; you want me to cum this early?"

"You know what's cheating?" Farleigh once more grabbed your chin, angling your head so you could watch Oliver working hard to get you off, "look at him," Farleigh murmurs in your ear, "eyes open, on his," the commanding tone was hard to refuse, and your eyes fluttered open; the fucking sight of him, a mess between your legs, Farleigh's hand in his hair, was almost enough to send you over the edge, "tell him what I mean."

"Gentle- uh, gentle teeth on me- on my-" you desperately tried to string two words together as Oliver began to get more of an idea. Farleigh's hand on his head becoming more insistent, firmer, nose pressed firm against your skin when he finally took the hint, focusing on your clit, sucking and lapping at it, teeth gently teasing as you completely lost the ability to speak. The rhythm of his fingers was consistent and firm throughout it all, pressing just right -

"Keep your fucking eyes on him," Farleigh ordered, almost snarling it into your ear, "I want you to watch Oliver Quick make you cum." But Oliver had eyes only for him, feeling you clench around his fingers, thighs pressing desperately against his shoulder and the hand that had kept them apart, he could feel Farleigh's nails on his scalp and see the heady, smug pride in his eyes.

As you start to come down, breathing hard and heavy and leaning all your weight against Farleigh, you giggle with out of breath contentment.

"Princess's got not manners," Oliver shook his head with an air of disappointment, and Farleigh smirked, brushing some hair from Oliver's forehead before he reached up and tapped your cheek gently.

"Say thank you, Oliver."

"Thank you, Oliver," you grinned, tone surprisingly sincere, as Oliver crawled up onto the bed beside you both. But there's something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watched you both; reaching out, he presses the fingers against Farleigh's lips, your cum coating them like syrup. Farleigh is more than happy to lick them clean, tongue dancing lewdly around Oliver's digits, all kinds of inuendo and promise in his eyes.

Then, Oliver's attention turns on you something dark, hungry, almost deranged in his eyes. He takes your face in hand.

"And you, princess," he says derisively, not even respecting you enough to look you in the eyes in this moment, "this is not your place that I am putting you in," god it almost sounds like a threat, but you're already squirming with want and anticipation, "but we'll get there," he squeezes your cheeks and your mouth opens on command, tongue as pink and wet and desperate as your cunt had been. He spits in your mouth, sudden sneer curling his lip, blue eyes ice cold and demeaning; "and it's thank you, Oliver Quick."

You feel fucking filthy, can taste yourself in his spit.

You want him to do it again.

"Thank you, Oliver Quick."

{ part two here }

#saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x farleigh start #oliver quick smut #farleigh start smut #farleigh smut #farleigh start x reader x oliver quick #farleigh x reader x oliver #manic writer

[choccy-milky]

Status update on the dark relic nsfw comic please ma'am 🙏 my family is dying

ITS DONE!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉...well, the DRAWING part is as of yesterday BAHAHA. now im just adding all the dialogue/speech bubbles/sfx, SO ITS DEFINITELY GONNA BE SOON!! DEFS BY THIS WEEKEND!! ive just been very nitpicky on the font which i cant decide on LMAO and im also nitpicky abt other final touches LOL. i didnt wanna show anymore cuz ive already shown so much but HERES THE FINAL SNEAK PEEK

and speaking of fonts, i normally use handwriting by jeremy paz!

oh man its so random, but i either use the name lumi or clora for everything whenever i play rpgs (baldurs gate 3, dragon age, you name it) and clora originated from rune factory 4 LOL. theres a character named 'clorica' and i really liked that name, it sounds so elegant and fantasy ish, so i eventually just shortened it to clora bahaha. now its my go-to. i like how simple it is but it also sounds unique and works in modern AND fantasy settings, imo

my first and ONLY playthrough was as clora! i originally did try to make myself at the start, but i have short brown hair and straight across bangs, and they didnt have a style that felt 'me', so i went with just making a ravenclaw that i liked, and then gave her my go-to name of clora HAHA. and yea, i built up her and sebs relationship in my head as i was playing, especially with all the running around the castle i did. i just liked to imagine her constantly out of breath and flushed and seb just watching like ....🧍girl chill...

AND SPEAKING OF MY DARK RELIC COMIC/SMUT, my biggest advice for writing smut id say is to have a reasoning behind it, i guess? i focus a lot on their headspace/WHY they're fucking at that moment when i write it LOL instead of just the movements/sex for the sake of sex. in your case, the sexual tension leading up to the first time gives you SO much to work with, since you can just be in his head with how much hes looking forward to it, how much hes savouring it, how he's also nervous but enjoying it and trusting the other person, etc. the thoughts are hotter than the actual deed a lot of the times (which is why when clora and seb did it for the first time it ended up being like, 15k words of just foreplay and build up from sebs perspective LMAOO) so yeah id just try to focus on their emotions and desires if you can! and a lot of the times with consent stuff it CAN feel forced, and you dont even really need your characters to talk about that stuff verbally, at least not too much. you can do it in body language, or just something as simple as 'ill stop if you want'. it doesnt have to be a long therapist-like conversation about consent, which CAN tend to sound a little awkward and unrealistic (esp in the heat of the moment), if thats the problem you're having. HOPE I COULD HELP

also i love this for you and for me. YES GO ON AND MAKE A BUNCH OF CLORA CLONES, I COMMAND IT👉👉👉

and last but not least the most important question. honestly i like plain sweets a lot with no icing/filling. im a slut for shortbread cookies and also just plain glazed donuts. and also custard/portugese/egg tarts, which i also forced clora to like in my fic HAHA. IF YOU HAVENT HAD THEM YOU HAVE TO, THEYRE SO GOOD😩😩💖💖

#ask #also the uncensored ver of the dark relic comic is gonna be on twitter but its gonna be slightly censored on poipiku #cuz of japanese laws i have to censor some parts of seb and cloras bits LMAO #though ive seen other western artists use poipiku and not bother with the censoring so maybe i wont?? idk if i wanna risk it tho LOL. #im just still confused on what parts even need censoring #the censor bar placements always just seem so useless imo LMAO #but ya ill probs censor it to be safe since i uploaded uncensored smut before on pixiv and it got taken down immediately oop #SO YEAH. FOR NO BLACK BAR CENSORED VERSION YOULL NEED TO GET A TWITTER IM SORRY

[hyperactively-me]

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE LISTEN TO ME PLEASE

141 Task Force + Ale and Kö with a ballerina civilian wife. THEN!!! (NO PLEASE THIS IS SO CUTE LISTEN) They came back from a mission without warning and they go to a presentation bcse they never actually saw one AND!!!! Their wife almost pass out in the middle of the stage by seeing them there (they look at her all in love and proud UGHHH).

THIS IS HELLA CUTE BYE-

BESTIE I'M LISTENING. LOUD AND CLEAR. this is so cute omg!!! also, i've never written for anyone other than ghost, and i don't have the confidence to write for anyone other than simon, so please don't be upset but i will be writing this only for ghost. (although, i genuinely want to get some practice in writing for all the other COD men, which i am trying to somewhat do through my king!ghost au, i just don't wanna fuck up their characters too badly haha. if at any point i decide to write for the others, i will totally come back to this prompt!). also, i wanted to make this more into a oneshot rather than blurb/headcanons soooo! yeah!

As the soft notes of The Sleeping Beauty Suite filled the dimly lit theater, you stood backstage, your heart racing. You sat on a spare box, fastening your pointe shoes on securely. The spotlight beckoned, the hushed whispers of the audience creating a palpable tension in the stiff air. The curtains were about to rise, and you were the prima ballerina. As you finished fastening your pointe shoes, you stood, brushing out your tutu. The weight of anticipation bore down on you, but you stood tall, chin up, back straight. You had practiced this routine a hundred times. It was just another night, another ballet. Nothing you weren’t used to. 

Except it wasn’t. 

You didn’t know your husband had just slipped in through the doors. He was still in his uniform, except for his mask and tactical gear. He never wore the mask around you. 

You had no idea that tonight would be different. All you knew was that Simon was not supposed to come back home for another three weeks. He had been deployed for three long months now. Your heart ached just thinking about how long you’ve been without him, the loneliness and longing that came with being a military spouse weighing heavy on you. 

The sudden sound of the orchestra snapped you out of your daydream, and the curtain began its ascent. Your delicate tutu billowed around you as you took your first step onto the stage, your body moving with the grace and precision that only years of training could produce.

But then, in the midst of your pirouettes and arabesques, something caught your eye in the sea of dimly lit faces. A figure, tall and strong, standing in the back of the theater. The world around you blurred as your heart leapt into your throat. It couldn't be.

Simon.

The shock of seeing him in the audience was enough to make you falter, to disrupt the airy balance of your performance. You stumble over your feet slightly, your knees shaky from the sudden interruption. 

You recover as best you can, continuing to dance. Your eyes locked onto his, you wanted to cry. He was home early. And he was here to watch you. His expression was one of awe and pride, like a lovesick puppy gazing at his beautiful wife.

You pranced and twirled, lost in the music and the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. It was as if the two of you were the only people in the world, the stage your sanctuary.

As the final notes of the music filled the theater, you struck your final pose, your breath ragged, your body trembling. The audience erupted into applause, their adoration washing over you like a warm embrace. But your eyes remained locked with Simon's, who was clapping with ferocious fever. His eyes never left yours. You flash him a teary, wet smile.

As soon as the curtains closed, you fell from your pose, taking in a ragged breath. 

Your fellow ballerinas had come up to congratulate you on a beautiful performance, but all you could do was say a rushed “thank you” before you were running through the backstage area. The backstage was a labyrinth of bustling dancers, stagehands, and dimly lit corridors. Your heart raced as you rushed to find a way out into the audience to reach Simon. The echoes of applause still reverberated through the walls, but all that mattered now was him.

Finally, you burst through a side door that led to the theater’s lobby. And there he was, waiting for you, his eyes shining with unbridled love and pride. His dark uniform was a stark contrast to the delicate pink of your ballet attire.

Without a word, you threw yourself into his arms, and he caught you, lifting you off your feet. The world around you ceased to exist as you held each other, tears of joy streaming down your face. His calloused hands wrap around you, squeezing you tight against him. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into his ear, your watery voice filled with pure happiness. 

“I missed you so much, love.” Simon placed you gently back on your feet, his hands cradling your face with care, wiping away your tears. 

“I missed you, Si,” you take in a shaky breath. “So much.”

“I– I can’t believe you’re here, how did you know?”

“I would never miss my wife’s performance, now would I?” 

A mixture of laughter and tears escaped your lips as you leaned in to kiss him, a deep and passionate kiss. It felt like a dream come true that he was here, watching you perform. It had been ages since he was last able to come to one of your performances, and his support meant the world and more to you. You pull away from the kiss, shoving your face into his neck.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his voice reverberating in your eardrums. “You looked beautiful, look beautiful.” 

You pull back, looking at him with a huge smile, rubbing his back gently. "Thank you, Si."

He pulls you back into a tight embrace, wrapping you in his warmth and burly arms. More tears welled up in your eyes, and you clung to him, feeling the weight of the months apart melt away.

His words warmed your heart. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you held each other close, savoring the moment as long as you could.

#*ੈ✩ simon “ghost” riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme #hyperactivelyme requests

[madladysix]

Missing you

Pairing: Iceman X Fem! Reader

SMUT AHEAD 18+ BE WARNED!!!

Description: after being away from each other a long time you both get it on sexual style (I genuinely cannot help myself with writing that but I also cannot write a good description for this!)

————————————

Tom Kazansky has been away for six months now…letters and photographs of filthy promises was enough to make any man crave the woman he loves, so within the moment of him walking through the door of his shared home…he searched for his lover…there he found her in the shower. Ice began stripping off his clothing getting completely naked and then ripping open the shower curtain staring straight at his lover’s beautiful body ignoring her scream and then giggles of surprise as he quickly maneuvered into the tiny shower…pressing her up against the wall fiercely as he kissed her with all the force of love and hunger in the world.

"Y/n," Iceman moaned into your lips, his free hand sliding between your legs, "Ive missed you more than you could know.” He groaned out, between every kiss and breath he was pressing into your lips deeper, it felt almost like he was sucking in your scent and words with the harshness of his needy kiss, but what made you feel like the Queen of the world was his greedy fingers slipping down your body and towards your folds where gentle circles were placed upon your sensitive mound. Y/n’s moans echoed upon the walls of the steamy bathroom as he continued to tease and please her with his rough digits.

Within moments her legs began shaking with need as he touched her faster, "Please... I can’t take much more Tom..” she begged between her gasps for air, "Soon." he muttered as his fingers began working even faster now, driving her closer to an impending climax but with one last deep-possessive kiss, he pulled back immediately, and moved his cock to press against her core, a small gasp left her mouth which only made him groan in response, this is what he’s longed to hear was her moans…her teasing letters and lewd photos for his eyes only that he received while out on a naval vessel 1000s of miles away from her for six months was uncalled for and only fueled his fire as he fiercely and without warning lifted her up slightly in his muscular arms and shoved his cock into her slick entrance but his movements were slow with pushing inside her, he wanted this to last, but her small gasps filled the steamy room and he knew with how much he needed this it’d be over real soon so as he slowly pulled out and pushed back in, and did this with every inch before filling her up fully he said soft words to her

“I love your eyes…” “I love your voice…” “I love your skin..” he was worshipping being in her presence as he kept a steady rhythm inside of her. Ice groaned loudly as he bit the corner of her neck…Her walls had contracted around him, being far away from her for months on end not getting to see her with the fear of dying in the air came with its perks…moments like these where he can finally feel her, smell her, hear her, and he can finally release all the negative thoughts he has been harboring within his head from being away from her by just being with her right here and right now. "Fuck," he breathed, his hands finding her hips to hold onto as he began to move inside her at a quicker rate, Their bodies slid against each other perfectly, as the water from the showerhead turned cold and dripped onto their steaming bodies, creating a sensual dance with raised skin. After a while of moaning and a

The sound of skin slapping skin..Tom moaned her name gently “y/n..” it wasn’t as possessive as before it was sensitive and feeling as he released within her, she was quick to cum after him as well, they held eachother and did not part, Tom laid his face in the crook of her neck and turned the water off blindly as she held onto her body craving her warmth and soft skin…He was touch deprived and it was obvious he had been through hell in the past few months “Tom?” Y/n asked with her voice low “I’m sorry..” he whispered back with a sad sound to his voice “hey…it’s okay…” she replied with a sound if honesty in her voice as she began to think that usually the after care would be focused solely on her but tonight the aftercare would be for him.

After they got out of the shower after moments of standing there cold and shivering just holding eachother, y/n began drying his body off and getting him comfortable clothes to wear, allowing them time to get dressed in their best possible comfort outfits, she held his hand and assured his every step to the bedroom, this was the difference…you know like medium and range? Although Ice wanted to love his wife…the mental toll of months of pain and hardwork loaded down on him in the matter of moments being with the only person he can trust…and she listened to all of it..she cried with him, laughed with him, but most importantly she stayed right there with him curled up on bed laying with his head on her chest.

#val kilmer x reader #val kilmer #smut #Val Kilmer x yn #val kilmer photos #tom kazansky #tom kazansky x reader #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #tom iceman kazansky #iceman x reader

[cyber97luts]

 ∞༺♥︎༻✧𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞

˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°warnings: swearing, being delusional, mistakes

˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°wc: 550

.•*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•..•*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•..•*¨`*•. ☆

han pulled y/n into a spine crushing hug, "its been so long y/nnie." Han mumbled, his face buried into the crook of her neck.

Once the two released from the hug and y/n could finally fill her lungs with air, she beamed up at the taller male. "I missed you so much hannie, how have you been?" Y/n asked, eager to catch up with her longtime friend.

Just as Han opened his mouth to reply a cough came from beside them, the two snapped their head to see a bored hyunjin staring at the pair. "We have things to do y/n, and so do you han..." the taller male mumbled glancing between the two.

Han turned his attention back to y/n, ignoring their mutual friend. "Why do you hang out with him so much," he pouted, "he's such a buzz kill..." Y/n shook her head at this, a light giggle falling past her lips. "i would hang out with you more but you never text me," y/n stated matter of factly, as she leaned against the wall of the hallway they were standing in.

Han chuckled as he playfully rolled his eyes, "I don't text any-" "Han, what are you doing?!" Han was once again cut off as a voice called out to him from down the hall. Han whipped his head around to see a clearly annoyed Chris walking towards him.

"Channie-hyung," he groaned in disapproval. Bang Chan scoffed, 'channie-hyung' he mocked. "i told you to hurry up and get to the studio. I don't wanna waste my day here practicing, and i know damn well you don't either."

Y/n stood watching her friend get scolded by his...member? Han had mentioned a 'channie-hyung' previously, but that was months ago.

Y/n continued to watch not sure if she should intervene or not, she decided against it as this technically wasn't her business. She tuned back into the conversation listening as the somewhat unknown man said, "Say goodbye to your friend and get to the practice room." Y/n felt a shiver in her spine at his words. The man wasn't yelling but something about his calm, passive aggressive tone was intimidating.

Han waved to y/n as he mumbled a quick "buh-bye" before reluctantly walking towards the elevators. As han walked away the other man suddenly turned to y/n a small smile on his face. "Hi, im sorry about that...um..." He trailed off, not exactly knowing the woman's name. "y/n" Hyunjin suddenly interrupted, wanting to get this interaction over with so he could begin his own work.

"thanks hyun" The man mumbled, as he turned his attention back to the girl infront of him. "but yeah, im sorry about that y/n. Im Bang Chan, just call me chan or chris. im fine with either." Before y/n could respond, Chris continued, "Im sorry for the short introduction but i've really gotta go, Im sorry again." He mumbled with a small smile before turning around and rushing off.

A few minutes later as Y/n and Hyunjin stood in the elevator. Y/n suddenly turned to her friend, "hyunne...what's that guys twitter...?"

Hyunjin looked at her with the nastiest side eye, "be so fucking for real y/n"

☆ngl i spent all of my brain power on the writing portion n got kinda lazy on the smau part. im sry guys, ive been through a shit ton in the past few days but i rly wanted to upload cus im actually enjoying making this😭. i promise the next one will be better.

★masterlist

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ ˑ𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕...

:;@allyrarara loading. . .

#bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #christopher bang #kpop smau #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz smau #skz texts #skz x you #skztexts #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids texts #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smau #stray kids imagines #ateez smau #✧*:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅ ̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ )*:･ﾟ✧cyber97luts

[thatdeadaquarius]

Heyo, Idk if you still do sagau but I hope you do 🙏🙏 anyway, this is lowkey wholesome but imagine one of acolytes were trying to communicate with a child but then they realize the child is deaf but reader so happened to be nearby. So then, whatever the character is saying the reader translates into sign language and its just a wholesome sight to see. Btw srry if this isn't what you usually write 😓 add anything to this if you want

OH NO THIS IS EXACTLY ALL THAT I WRITE RN ANON DW MY LOVE 😍

(*update: im so stupid i thought ur sunglasses pfp was a anon and didnt look any closer💀i aint livin this one down)

(Spoiler: i do plan to do imagines for other fandoms bc i have such niche AUs or ideas for them, a lot like this whole language stuff for Genshin Sagau :D )

IVE WANTED TO LEARN ASL FOR SO LONG BUT I HAVENT GOTTEN THE CHANCEEE theres no classes for it where i live ;/

THAT IS TO SAY I LIVEEE FOR COMMUNICATION STUFFFFF

Also srry its kinda short i just could only think of this cute little scenario- 😗

Rest in peace bc i have a whole fat post i wanna make about neurodivergence + general accessibility issues in Teyvat and their countries

Like where r the ramps babe

Where r the non-narrow ass doors

Why r we just constantly made to hike up mountains when we dont have to

And dont come at me with that,

"Theyre in their medieval age! They cant make stuff like that!"

Yeah, u right, they cant.

If they dont be ✨️creative ✨️and they dont use their fucking ✨️magic ✨️

Liyue got floating rocks and they cant make a goddamn disability elevator?? Bitch tf?

THAT IS TO SAY IN A VERY RANTING COUGHPASSIVE AGGRESSIVE AT GENSHIN COMMUNITY FOR NOT REPPING DISABILITIES MORECOUGH

WAY OF SAYINGGGG

Literally almost no one gets sign language in Teyvat

(despite the fact that in my perfect teyvat, sign lang. is superior bc everyone could make it the universal lang. ESP if we go by the cool AU of diff countries have diff languages, like Germanish lang for Mondstadt, Frenchish for Fontaine, etc.)

Off topic again srry-

◇

But you took a class once!! Or even checked out the alphabet and casual convo on ur own time :D

So u just chillin with Kazuha, Thoma, Sara, Gorou, and Kokomi (they vistin the main island to see u!! :] )

Meanwhile a little girl is walking around nearby, and is kinda going in circles

Almost like shes scared to go too far one way or the other,

So being the caring soul he is, (rlly all these boys here rn would notice and help lol)

Thoma comes up to her and squats down trying to talk to her :)

...

Yeah, she didn't say anything, just kinda,,

Motioned with her hands??

She looks like shes doing some kind of code to them..

Oh!

Thoma finally recognized this, its that hand language!! lmao hes got the spirit

so he asks Kazuha to try and see if he knows it or can even figure it out-

Nope. Nada de nada.

Then Kokomi, Sara and Gorou (whos a sweatin nervous mess he doesnt know how to act around kids esp kids in distress he seems like the type lol)

They all fail, Kokomi looks concerned bc she thinks the kids lost, but there no frantic parents nearby, Sara is trying to slowly understand what motions mean what i.e. points to a rock = learn sign from child etc,

Kazuha is trying to get the wind to help locate upset guardians nearby, and Gorou...

... is just 🧍‍♂️

LMAOOO

◇

So after a minute of this (bc u had originally been away at a street food vender, hey those dango were rlly good dont judge urself)

U come back, and see this mild flavor of chaos-

And are just like

"Oh ffs- just shoo, i got it guys"

And just, slowly, go thru some signs with the little girl to get the keywords at least

She lights up and is like bouncing, she goes hella fast at first but slows down when she gets ur hearing

Either way, she looks a lot happier now

U explain for her to the others to confirm her parents got seperated from her

She got lost and where she last saw them

u finally help escort her to the street she last saw her parents on :] !!

◇

Meanwhile the whole allogene group, shopkeepers, and Inazumans around you:

😦😯🥰🥺💓💞💘💖

Kokomi is holding back a squeal, shes gotta keep up her image, ahem-

Sara is like,, minutely vibrating?? Lmao

Kazuha is watching u like a fireworks show, intensely and yet fascinated

GOROU'S TAIL IS KINDA WAGGINGGG AW LOL

And Thoma just looks like a puddle of affection, just absolutely melted (he loves kids + he secretly loves you = dead Thoma)

Other people look weirdly, proud? Like theyre like "yeah thats our god, fuck yeah, knowing diff languages, go off, Your Grace 💅 " LMAO SORRY COULDNT RESIST and also some fascination

♡

Anyway, 2 very stressed looking dads see yall and the girl and one of them run up to hold each other

She starts rapidly signing, explaining to her dads the adventure she had and the cool people she met <3

The dads look at u and r like 🤔😶😱 "YOUR MAJESTY??!!" (VIGOROUS HAND MOTIONS)

They sign like,

"We're terribly sorry about you seeing us like this, we usually are much more together than this, a crowd just swept her off, its very busy today. Thank you so much for helping our girl, my Lord!! 😭😭"

Theyre like almost crying, oh geez, u reassure them and sign back that it happens to any parent at some point and that is matters more that they tried to get her back :]

◇

Meanwhile the rest of the group and the citizens are just watching yall like its the most amazing Olympic level tennis match in the world LMAO

Heads all in sync, watchin yall like 👋👍🙏LMAO IM SORRY

AW IT SUCKS ABOUT WRITING BC I CANT RLLY DEPICT SIGN LANGUAGE AS COOL AS I CAN IN COMICS OR THRU ART

THE EMOJI HANDS NEED SIGN LANGUAGE DAMMIT-

♡

🎵 Hi, it's me. I'm the problem, it's me. 🎵

That is to say none of yalls asks r eaten up, at least im pretty sure? Dw abt it im chugging along having the time of my life hehe >:)

Yall are fEEDIN ME TONIGHT!!

Hope yall r having a good weekend and have no hw if ur in school, or i hope ur shift goes good tomorrow! :]

Love yall!!

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

#this is hella cute #i wanna learn sign so bad #but i feel like i deffo need a class and not like some online videos #did i mention in there that in a perfect world or teyvat the trade or language would be sign language? #oh yes? #well just in case u didnt see ;) #genshin impact #ask box open #genshin sagau #my asks #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin sagau ideas #gender neutral reader #genshin isekai #genshin god reader #disability #genshin disability imagines #disability imagines

[thegoblinboy]

Veins, Lights, Camera, Action! 18+ Only

Tw; This is just pure smut so be warned

Summary; Eddie is a famous actor who has landed himself in the hospital, where he finds himself receiving a hand job from one of the most hottest nurses ever.

Note; I don’t write smut often so… yeah. Here’s this. (It’s all consensual as well)

Eddie’s hand, shaky but determined creeps down his stomach. A bit hesitant of pulling a IV out but god. He craved to be touched, hospital be damned.

Due to the fact that he was a pretty well known he was thankful enough to get his own room. Knowing that there was a possibility he would’ve been in the same room as a fan and that wasn’t a good idea.

His hand freezes as he watches the door, seeing the shadows of nurses casting through the blurry glass. No one could look in and see what he was doing. His heart was racing, feeling like at any moment he could get caught. Eddie did not handle embarrassment well.

Whimpering he feels his cock twitch, jerking up onto his stomach on its own. Biting his lip hard, he knows that he’ll feel teeth idents later after he was finished on the inside of his cheek as well.

He could do this is in the bathroom, but he still couldn’t stand up for long. That and the amount of equipment he had hooked up to him, he wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom alone on a good day let alone right now. Afraid that he would crack his head open on the sink or floor or better yet break thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

The room is dark, every light off except the screen showing his heart monitor and vitals, so he could see the outline of his dick pressed up against his stomach underneath the green sheets. Blushing in embarrassment as a damp spot starts to form from where the cloth landed on his tip. He had eagerly pulled his hospital gown up his body, not caring about seeing the bandages wrapped around his body. He was desperate to get off. Body dysmorphia could fucking hold its britches just for a god damn second.

His breathing is shaky and the only thing heard in the room as he gently wraps his fingers around his shaft. Squeezing it a little as he feels how hard he was. Groaning as he tilts his head back a bit in the sheets. Just feeling the weight of himself in his hand for a second, processing that he could actually feel his hand wrapped around himself. That alone was a relief. The drugs had numbed him to the point he couldn’t feel his dick, which meant he didn’t know he had a boner until he shifted just right most nights.

He moves his hand up after a second, excited to know he could finally have a orgasm if things went well. Shifting around a bit more he moves glancing over at the tissues. Groaning as he reaches over for them. Barely grabbing them and setting them down on his side. That alone knocking the air out of him as he’s tempted to call it quits. But he knows if he does this he’ll have the best nap after word. He craved for a sleep that wasn’t induced by drugs or pain. He wanted the daze of post orgasm, where he drifts off into his head for a bit before sleeping constantly. Riding out his high.

He needed something, anything to get his hand wet. Sighing he comes to terms with the fact his spit would have to do. Even though it wasn’t the best lubricant, it was better then none. Groaning he spits in his hand, it’s a little disgusting but he doesn’t care as he wraps his hand around himself again. Moving and getting his legs situated, putting the bottom of his feet on his sheets. Squeezing himself again as he takes a moment to play with himself.

Rubbing his thumb over his tip, watching it pull back and a droplets of precum leak out. Sliding down his shaft, mixing with his saliva down to his base. Whining a little his mouth falls open as he starts to move his thumb in circles, and watching his dick twitch around as he overstimulates himself within seconds. Tears forming in his eyes as he groans gently. Moving his other hand up to his mouth to conceal any noises he would possibly make.

He grunts gently in his palm when he realizes he was making himself too wet, forcing himself to pull his sheet off of himself as he prays that there were no cameras aimed at him right now. Or that he got the sheets to dirty. The thought of someone watching him or better yet recording him was causing his heart to race more. He hated this, but he was so horny that he couldn’t just leave it alone. He had already done that for the last four nights whenever the nurse came in.

The nurse with the pretty hazel eyes, the floofy hair and light stubble. The one with arms that were most likely the size of Eddie’s head, the one with the hairy chest that poked out from his scrubs and who also had the veiny hands that he couldn’t help but imagine was wrapped around his cock at this very moment. His imagination so vivid that he was picturing as much detail as humanly possible.

He starts to move his hand up and down, twisting his hand a bit as his eyes close. Pleasure blooming through him as he hears the faint slick noise of his hand moving. He really shouldn’t but he can’t help himself as his hips start to thrust up into the palm of his hand. Smearing so much precum all over his fingers and hand.

“Ah - uh - uh, oh fuck.” He moans a little higher then what his voice could actually reach, cracking gently as he tilts his head to the side. Groaning as he moves his hand careful of the tubes connected to him. Cursing under his breath, he could cry when he hears how loud the tubes were being. How the bed creaked back and forth from his movements.

His face is red as he gives up. Pressing his thighs together as he feels his cock angrily twitch. Deciding it wasn’t a good idea to keep going. Feeling grumpy as he checks his IV. Pulling his gown down in defeat as he glares up at the ceiling angrily. Panting gently, as he felt so embarrassed.

He tilts his head to the side when he hears his door creaking open, the light buzz of chatter coming from the nurses station leaking in as Eddie’s favorite nurse walks in. He can’t help but smile through the tears of frustration as he realizes the other probably seen the whole thing. In his horny daze he didn’t think to much on the camera that was in the corner ceiling. Or the fact that the walls were pretty much paper thin.

Steve was humming under his breath as he moves over to check on the tubes. Like he knows exactly what the other was doing. He moves and checks the others vitals as he catches the sound of the others heart slowly recovering from his excitement. To only start racing again as the other leans over him a bit. Flicking the screen of the monitor before smile charmingly down at the other.

“Must’ve been a fluke,” he winks. Pretending to not notice the way the others face goes red before he moves unhooking the tubes from the others arm. Leaving the needle in as Eddie looks confused.

“Figured you might want to move a bit more freely for a second.” He hums casually as he moves to check the others bandages. Making a oh face when he sees the other hard. A soft flush to his face as Eddie tries not to die from embarrassment.

Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s for a second before glancing over his shoulder at the door and at the camera. Moving his back to hide both of them as he raises his eyebrow. “So that’s why you’re heart went nuts.” He points out. Eddie nods his head dumbly, whining as he feels himself twitching under the others eyes.

Steve hums as he turns around and pulls the curtain around the bed so that the camera couldn’t see them. He moves as he raises his eyebrow, “so- do you need help with anything before I go?” He asks gently. It wasn’t suggestive, he sounded like he was actually going to give Eddie privacy.

Eddie groans as he whimpers. “Yeah, can you help me?” It was worth trying as he watched the others face grow red. Hesitating as he looks at the door before groaning as he moves closer.

“This never happened,” he says as he moves to the side of the other. Challenging Eddie almost who nods dumbly. Steve raises an eyebrow before Eddie gulps and shakes his head no.

“Never happened.” He mumbles before he watches the other intently as he moves pulling a chair over. Acting more casual then what Eddie would expect someone in his position to be. Then again he has given Eddie numerous sponge baths.

The first touch causes Eddie to spasm a bit, legs kicking out a little as the others lips gently wrap around his tip. Pulling back at the sudden movement. Looking up at Eddie intently, moving his head down and pulling the others foreskin back a little and swirls his tongue around gathering his precum up.

Eddie’s struggling to not cum within seconds of the others mouth around him but it’s difficult as the other moves his head down. Swallowing him halfway before pulling back up. Never going further down then that as he bobs his head a bit. Before pulling up and wrapping his hand around the other. Slowly moving his hand as he catches his breath. Watching Eddie who’s eyes stay on him the entire time. Even though it was a battle to keep his eyes on the other the entire time.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when the other starts to pump his fist down on him way faster then what he had been. It’s so sudden that spurts of cum shoot out as his back arches a bit. Chasing his high as his legs shake. Groaning in pleasure but a little bit in pain as he feels his wounds stretch a bit. He was due for more painkillers, reason why he felt so sober for the first time in days.

He’s panting as he comes down. Mouth wide open before his eyes. Smiling dopely at the other who cleans him up with such ease. “Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?” He asks sleepily.

Steve laughs gently, “oh? And where would the date be?” He teases. Looking back up at him curiously.

“Oh.. you know. The cafeteria.” Eddie grins casually. “Heard the jello cups were pretty good.” He giggles as he feels the post orgasm haze hitting. Steve laughs gently.

“Babe, you take your fore-playing a little to serious.” He hums a little as he leans up and kisses Eddie gently.

“Not my fault my boyfriend is a hot nurse.” Eddie grumbles into the kiss. “And had to, never going to have another authentic experience like this, should get injured more often.” He jokes.

Steve laughs as he rolls his eyes. “No you will not be doing that. You know how long it’s going to take me to delete the footage from security of you jerking off? Honestly should just let it leak, teach you your lesson.” He teases.

Eddie laughs as he shrugs. “Oh well, my acting skills called upon me and I think they did pretty good. There were supposed to be more argument when I asked you to help me you know.” He says amused, watching his boyfriends face go pink.

“Oh shut up,” Steve scolds. Moving and kissing the others forehead. “Though, I will be back in to give you your pain meds.” He comments before he’s turning around and throwing the curtains away from the bed.

“Ok, love you Stevie!” Eddie shouts as the other opens the door. Hearing the faint sounds of awes and kissing sounds coming from the nursing desk. Causing Steve to flip him off as he closes the door behind him after a faint

“Love you to asshole,” is heard.

#smut warning #steddie smut #steddie #minors do not interact #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #bxb #steveharrington #steveddie #eddie stranger things #steve and eddie #this is all consensual #plot what plot #nurse Steve Harrington #actor Eddie Munson #consensual

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: II

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧.

series masterpost part I

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 5107 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), blood play, knife play, gun play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers, violence, murder, choking, low honour Arthur being sexy af (yes it needs its own warning) authors note: okay, it's been a whiiiile for these two crazies, but part 2 is finally here!! i gave this one my all, i hope y'all enjoy <3 i have a plan for this series that's mostly built on requests ive received, so if y'all have any suggestions please feel free to drop them in my asks!!<3 as always thank you to my darling Bea for being my cheerleader throughout getting back to writing. couldn't do it without ya <3beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola

Thanks to Arthur, and your own terrible decisions, it is far from the easiest ride back to camp, your bare, sticky skin uncomfortably grinding against your saddle with each movement your steed makes. Also thanks to Arthur, ironically, it isn’t the roughest ride you’ve ever had. You’d actually be hard pressed to find a harder ride than the one you experienced just minutes ago. It infuriates you, how unbelievably satisfied you feel despite everything. It’s bone deep and unlike anything you’ve felt with any of the other men you’ve been with. It even dopes your mind up enough to allow you to reach the bridge out of Saint Denis before the real regret sets in like a gypsies fuckin’ curse. 

You urge Tybalt, your snow white Arabian, faster, almost frantically squeezing your calves and verbally ordering his gallop. The saddle burn is searing, but it’s not nearly as bad as the ice water that feels as though it’s being dumped over your head when you realise what you’ve done. 

Arthur Morgan.

Arthur Fucking Morgan.

Fucking Arthur Fucking Morgan.

You don’t even really remember how it happened. It’s a complete blur of pleasure and pain and the smell of Arthur’s smoky breath and the feel of his calloused hands against your softest, most sensual parts. One minute, you’re gathering information, planning just how you’re going to loot the bastard, the next you’re bleeding for him, burning for him as he takes you under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The wind whips at your cheeks painfully, the skin of your thighs ripping against the hard leather of the saddle. The faster you ride, the more it hurts, but you’re grateful for it. It's the perfect punishment for what you’ve done, a painful distraction from the thoughts plaguing your mind of you fucking someone who considers your father’s killer a father to him. To add insult to all the injury, you have to go back to camp empty handed. You didn’t even think about the job Morgan is probably off finishing right now after finishing you, which is probably exactly what he wanted.

“God fucking dammit!” you scream out into the swamps of Lemoyne, scattering a few birds from the trees into the inky night sky. 

Tybalt carries you home, but in your current state you simply cannot face your family and the other gang members. It's 4am before all the lanterns are distinguished and you can finally hitch up and bring yourself to enter camp, tying Arthur’s jacket tighter around your waist and walking as quietly as you can back to your tent. You don’t sleep, despite longing for nothing but your cot the whole time you were waiting. 

Your jeans burn faster than expected. 

If only you could burn the rest of the night to ashes just as quickly.

═══════☆═══════

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Arthur Morgan. Actually seen Arthur Morgan, that is. Three weeks of good old Uncle Colm handing you the shittiest jobs as punishment for your failings. Three weeks of trying so damn hard not to bring yourself back to that night every time you’re alone in your tent, but finding it near impossible. It takes 9 days for the bruises on your thighs to fade and 14 for the cuts on your neck, though the constant reminder of your sins lies just on your inner thigh, where Arthur’s knife ripped your skin as you came undone in his arms. The scar shines in the candlelight, only seen in the dead of night when you’re alone, shamefully tracing the same lines Arthur did with your fingers over and over, chasing that rush you know deep down you won’t find without him. He haunts you, and yet you’re infuriated each and every time his cocky goddamn smirk somehow shows up in your deepest fantasies. 

It’s not your fault. You can’t even get yourself off without brushing against the mark he left on you. Hell, he may as well have branded his name into your leg. Bastard.

These are the grievances you grumble to yourself near nightly, the battle you fight with your subconscious even now, as the lock to the gunsmith’s clicks open in your nimble hands. The old door screams out the tale of years without oil for its hinges when you push it open, stepping inside into the dark, empty room. You’re far too focused on everything you shouldn’t be focused on right now to check over your shoulder before slipping inside, but in your years as an outlaw that mistake is yet to cause an issue.

The moonlight streams through the windows, the panes casting shadows of crosses on the shelves and the weapons adorning them. Your tired eyes scan your surroundings, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lip at the sight of those beautiful weapons, all yours for the taking.

The owner of the store almost certainly lives upstairs, so when the weight of your boots on the wooden floorboards makes them creak underneath you, you wince. Yes, you’re more than prepared for any disturbances, but you’d rather not have to deal with the hassle of shooting some guy in the face. A quick job, in and out, and you can get back to camp victorious and not think about Arthur Morgan.

You start with the ammo, loading the leather bag up with all the little boxes. The shells and bullets make such beautiful music to your ears as they clatter around their cardboard boxes, a song of abundance and a successful loot that you could listen to all night. When all the side pockets are full, you turn on your heel, spurs scraping against the wood as you begin to survey the shelves upon shelves of weapons. They appear to be organised well, the rifles in one corner, repeaters next to them, there’s an entire wall of pistols, some glinting in the moonlight that breaks through the dusty window, with all the other types delegated to an area of the shop each. It’s a beautiful sight for an outlaw, especially when you see the cabinet of knives and start to imagine all the different places you could shove them into Arthur’s ridiculously muscular body…

You’re getting off topic. 

The floorboards groan under your weight again the moment you start pacing the shop to grab at least two of each kind of gun. For each that goes in the bag for camp, you grab another, ever so slightly better one for yourself. You’ll carry them out separately and tie them up to Tybalt once you’re out of this place. That’s the plan, at least. 

It takes you the longest to pick out the knives, each one possessing a captivating reason to be your favourite. The carvings on all of the different handles are stunning, each blade almost glowing right to their pointed tips. Guns are great, but you’ve always been fond of the art form of blades. You reach for one, an ornate dagger that seems to shine brighter than the others, its handle carved into a beautiful, twisted scene. There’s a woman in the middle, flames wrapping around her legs and waist as the Grim Reaper holds her from behind. The detail is incredible, each bony finger of Death himself gripping into the woman’s hip. It almost takes your breath away, but something beats it to it. Someone beats it to it. 

“Aw, shucks, I caught another stray!” Arthur exclaims, all sarcasm and bravado as your gasp gets stuck in your throat. How the hell did he sneak up on you? You can’t even breathe without the wooden floorboards threatening loudly to collapse in on you. 

You set your jaw, grinding your molars and letting out a long sigh through your nose. You don’t turn around to face him, not wanting to look at him for fear everything will come racing back again.

“Fuck off, Morgan. This job’s mine. You’re too late.” 

He takes two long strides forward until he’s right behind you, which you only know thanks to the buzzing of energy tickling your back. How you can feel him without actually touching him, you may never know. But you do, and it clouds your mind something awful. 

“Now now, little stray. Don’t we share jobs? I seem to recall you tryna’ claim some of my takin’s a few weeks back.” 

Your grip on the ornate handle of the knife gets tight enough to turn your knuckles white, but you still refuse to face him, telling yourself it’s so you don’t have to look at his stupid face and absolutely no other reason. 

“And if you’ll recall, I took nothin’ from you.”

“Not for lack’a tryin’, princess. I think we both remember just what I had to do to you to stop ya’...” he taunts, low and gravelly. It vibrates against your back.

Even with your back to him, you can picture so clearly exactly what shit eating smirk he wears right now, as Arthur reaches up to the nape of your neck, running his knuckles so softly down each vertebrae of your spine, melting your very bones. For some reason, you allow yourself a moment- just a moment- to indulge in it, to let that tingling feeling spread like ripples in a pond crafted by his hand, before the immense effort you have to put in to not moan audibly slams you back into reality. You spin to face Arthur, braid whipping the air around you from the speed of it as your new weapon is pushed against Arthur’s throat, the tip threatening to slice open his jugular.

“Now you listen here, Morgan, and you listen good. That night never happened. You had a knife to my goddamn throat, you took whatever you damn well wanted from me and I’ll be damned if you take one more single fucking thing. Now get out of my fucking sight and let me do my job.”

Despite your white hot rage, despite the sharp metal nearly being forced through his windpipe, Arthur is still smirking, and by god if that doesn’t throw more fuel onto your burning fury. He scoffs a laugh out, swallowing hard enough for his Adam's apple to push back into the blade, making a point that he isn’t in the slightest bit scared of you. When he leans in, your arm follows, your resolve to slice his throat open dissipates into the thick air. Arthur reaches up, wrapping thick fingers around your wrist to pull it down away from him. For some reason, a reason you’ll spend an eternity searching for, you let him, you chest rising and falling as you attempt to merely exist without the growing tension cutting you apart limb by limb. His breath tickles your nose, and his lips are so close to yours you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he stops no more than half an inch away from you.

“You know I took nothin’ from you that you didn’t freely give me, little stray.”

The insinuation shatters that lie you keep telling yourself, the version of events where Arthur forced himself upon you and none of this is your fault. You know he’s right, but admitting that to yourself would break you, does break you. But you can’t break in front of him, can’t allow the slightest crack for him to prise open and reveal your true self. You hate him so much, that much is the truth, but there’s so much hiding behind that veracity that you can never allow to see the light of day nor the glow of the moon. 

You grit your teeth, jaw painfully twitching from the strain of working the muscle so hard since Arthur’s presence has begun to drown you. The fire in your eyes burns threateningly, but it’s taking more and more to keep it aflame the closer Arthur’s wandering hand gets to cupping your cheek. Without breaking the stare tethering you together, you reach up with cat-like reflexes to grip his wrist, stopping him just before contact is made.

“Get out, or I’ll scream and everyone will know you’re here.”

You’re at an impasse yet again, Arthur clutching your wrist with a near bruising force, you gripping his with his hand suspended in the air. It’s silent, save for the deafening buzzing of electricity cracking between you. Arthur chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest and reaching the depths of you.

“You think that’s a threat, woman? Scream in fear of me, scream for me while I take that pretty little cunt of yours again, it don’t matter. Ain’t nobody gonna come runnin’ to save you.”

He lets go first, because he knows your threats are empty. He knows you’re clenching down tight on your molars because it’s the only sensation distracting you from the heat pooling between your legs and he knows you want him just as much now as you did that night in the alleyway. Arthur Morgan always gets his way, it would seem. And you’re no different. 

You don’t expect him to release you, so the silence between you fragments and slices you when you drop your blade to the ground with a loud clatter. Anybody upstairs definitely would have heard that, and you’re infuriated that Arthur is ruining the first decent job you’ve been given in weeks, as much as your anger is overshadowed by… other sensations.

“We’re… we’re trespassing. They’ll call the law, ain’t you a wanted man, Morgan?” There’s no integrity to your words, no more fire, only an apprehension that you pray to god he can’t detect. 

He sneers, “And you’re here to what? Clean this bastard’s floors? C’mon, O’Driscoll…” At that, Arthur kneels down, picking up your discarded weapon. He drags the blade lightly up your inner thigh, making it all that much harder to suppress the little moan building from the sensation. He spins the dagger so that the blade is in his hand, offering it back to you. You look down at him while you take it, enjoying the sight of the notorious Arthur Morgan kneeling before you like this more than you could ever admit to yourself. “You know we’re just as wanted as each other.” 

His words strike a chord. A lonely chord, in a lonely song of two lonely souls who can never let anybody else in. In your line of work, closeness is danger, it’s risk and it’s not worth it. Nobody outside could ever understand… except him. You know the stories of the Van der Linde gang, of Arthur and his son and suddenly it all makes sense, why he’s chasing you like a hungry cat after a mouse. It’s the same reason you didn’t stop him the first time, the same reason you haven’t screamed like you’d threatened to, the same reason why you’re going to let him do this all over again. That closeness… you need it, even if it is with a man you can’t bring yourself to stand. You’re just as wanted as each other… just not by anybody who matters.

He watches in real-time as you realise all this, as you figure out that the man you hate most in the world is the only one you could possibly let in. It’s maddening, infuriating, and now you need a distraction. And you’re going to take it. 

You meet each other's eye, spotting the challenge hanging between you to see who will be the first to break. You feel the tension infiltrating your body, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin aflame and you know the only way to stop it isn’t through extinguishing the flames but fuelling them. You need to burn with Arthur until there’s nothing left but ash and soot. 

You spark, while your oxygen gets ever closer. Arthur takes a few slow steps forward, and it’s only when his smoky breath infiltrates your senses do you realise that despite everything, you have never kissed him. He backs you up against the display case until there is nowhere for you to escape, your lips so close you can nearly taste the whiskey on him. Your heart hitches in your throat, convinced he’s about to break the barrier you didn’t cross before. 

Arthur doesn’t kiss you, instead growling deep in his chest as he sniffs, trailing his nose from your collarbone to your jaw. You shudder, your shirt suddenly feeling much too tight on your form.

“W-What are you-”

“Exactly what you want me to, little stray.” He whispers, “Or should I-”

“No. D-Don’t stop, I-” 

He doesn’t let you finish your request, knowing exactly what it is before the words can leave your lips and you’re grateful, it means you can hold full deniability after the storm just like you did last time. Arthur grasps your collar in each hand, tearing your shirt apart and scattering your buttons across the floorboards. Your nipples feel the cool night air only for a moment before one is taken in Arthur’s mouth, the other pinched between his calloused fingers. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you feel the heat and moisture pool in your underwear at the very thought of what's to come. You need more. Now.

Your nails dig into Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees before you with a force enough to bruise him. It is an addicting view, Arthur kneeling for you, and it’s not one you’re about to pass up again. His hands are quickly on your belt, unbuckling it to access your buttons and zipper to slide your jeans and panties down your legs. Clothes discarded, he grips into your thighs and spreads them, diving into your heat like it’s a source of oxygen. There’s no teasing, no featherlight touches nor gentle licks… no, he takes your clit in between his teeth, the sharpness shooting everywhere as he begins to suck. It catapults you. To where, you have no idea, but it’s incredible, otherworldly, and enough to make you instantly forget where you are. You mewl, tugging at Arthur’s locks as he begins to lap your juices up like a man starved. Say what you will about Arthur Morgan- and you do, often- but by god does he know exactly how to make you feel good. 

You’ve never had a man take you like this, with you standing above him while he bows to you, and it takes near everything you have to not let your legs buckle beneath you. Somehow, you know Arthur would catch you, but you’d rather not find that out right now. 

“Fuck…” you breathe out amongst moans and whimpers, hips bucking against Arthur’s face. His stubble burns against your thigh beautifully, each and every sensation of the moment working harmoniously to send you to dizzying levels of pleasure. You ride Arthur’s face, bare feet pointed on your tiptoes to allow him better access as you climb closer to nirvana. Your nails scratch hard against his scalp, wordlessly letting him know just how close you are, silently demanding he doesn’t dare stop. Arthur sucks hard on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, his teeth catching it every so often in the sweetest pain you’ve felt in… well, about 3 weeks. It hurtles you over the precipice you’ve been dangled over, and you have to bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood. A coppery taste blooms over your tongue, your only sign that you’re still human despite the unearthly, ethereal sensations burning every inch of your body inside and out. 

When you reach what you assume to be the peak, the very edge of what you’re sure a human body can handle, the strength of your bite becomes no match for the need to moan out. It echoes around the room, a positively obscene sound that you can’t even really hear over the rushing of your own blood in your ears. 

“Quiet, goddammit.” Arthur grumbles, all but slapping his palm against your open, quivering mouth. Just as you think you’re about to come down from this immeasurable high, you feel two of Arthur’s thick fingers run over the part of your soaked slit that isn’t consumed in between his teeth. It’s the only warning you get before he plunges them deep inside you, curling to find that swollen spot he seems to have a map to. No barrier on this Earth or otherwise could stop the scream derived from pure ecstasy escaping your lips. The combination of the delicious suction Arthur has on your clit and the curved pumping of his fingers is a completely new level of euphoria. You feel so full before Arthur’s cock has even broken free from its denim confides and you’re not sure how much more of this relentless orgasm you can take without collapsing into him. 

You reach a crest higher than you thought possible, crashing back down into this realm as if your body is nothing but seafoam. Your chest swells with each laboured breath you’re finally allowed to take once Arthur removes his hand from your mouth, though you still can’t really see straight. Your mind is fuzzy, still trying to wrap itself around the concept that anyone could make you feel that good, so Arthur already has his zipper undone and is reaching to pull his cock out before you’ve even registered that he has stood.

After three weeks of Arthur only existing in your mind, you’d convinced yourself that your memory couldn’t possibly be accurate, that over a few lustful nights alone in the dark you’ve managed to exaggerate… but no. Arthur is, as much as you loathe to admit it, magnificent. Just as thick as you remember, with veins that wrap around his shaft like ivy throbbing with pure need. He’s almost too big, your overstimulated cunt seems to think, widening your eyes in awe to watch when Arthur begins to palm his leaking cock.

“I-I don’t think I can-“

“Oh yeah you fuckin’ can,” He grits, giving you no time to catch up with your own racing heart as he grips your thighs, lifting you up to perch on the glass counter of weapons and spreading you wide. Arthur surges up, spearing into you. He wastes no time, he needs not warm you up; after such a blinding orgasm, you’re already soaking for him. He feels your arousal, mixed with his own residual spit, coating his cock as he slides in up to the hilt. He groans viscerally, leaning right into the crook of your neck so his breath burns your skin. He takes your flesh between his teeth in a sharp, pinching bite and you yelp between mewls. Tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure stretch and invasion of Arthur filling you so wholly, but you’re too far gone into this cloud of sensation to care if they fall. 

“See how much you need me, little stray… how much you fuckin’ need this cock, huh? Actin’ like you hate the big bad wolf, but I feel how your cunt weeps for me, how it wraps around me while I fuck you senseless.”

Your inner thigh is left with a burning red handprint when Arthur releases it to reach and rub hard circles on your clit. It makes it so hard to meet his eye without your own rolling to the back of your head in bliss, makes it near impossible to argue back when you can already feel another orgasm approaching, but your stubbornness persists enough to let you try and struggle out an argument.

“I can enjoy your cock and still hate you, wolfie.” 

Your less than affectionate nickname earns you a harsh slap against your clit, the pain bouncing through your every inch in the sweetest pain you could imagine. You cry out again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as Arthur continues to relentlessly pound into you. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or ride for at least a week, but it’s a small price to pay for something so fucking good.

Neither of you are holding back, moaning into eachothers mouths, inhaling eachothers breaths, growling for each other and just barely avoiding your lips touching. You don’t hear the ceiling creak, nor the stairs groan under the weight of the gunsmith on his way to see who or what is making such grotesque noises in his humble little shop. All there is in this moment is you, Arthur, and his glorious cock fucking you insensible. Your ass burns from the friction of rubbing up against the glass display case, even more so when Arthur releases your other thigh to reach for something at his hip and the case is left to hold your entire weight. You see nothing but your big bad wolf, grunting and growling deep as you climb ever higher with him.

“What in the-”

BANG 

A gasp is ripped from your throat with the gunshot ringing in your ears. Your heart couldn’t pound any harder without breaking free of your ribcage, but a swift look to your left shows that you’re in no danger at all. Arthur’s arm is outstretched, smoking pistol pointed to the air above the now dead gunsmith. He doesn’t even look away from your face, contorted in such bliss as he continues to dangle you over the edge. He killed a man while buried so deep inside you, his victim’s blood now splattered across both your faces like crimson freckles. 

There’s no time to mourn, or even acknowledge, as grasps your jaw hard between his thumb and forefinger and forces your eyes back to him. The blood sprayed on his features suits him, you think, but that makes sense for the big bad wolf. The way he takes a life with such ease… it terrifies and enthrals you all the same. Your pussy squeezes around his shaft involuntarily at the thought of watching him kill again and again just to fuck you just that bit longer, at the idea that those measly mortal lives pale in comparison for his need to be inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, Arthur I’m gonna-” 

You’re cut off by a sharp slap to your cheek, and it burns so beautifully. The blood on Arthur’s hands smears across your skin, tainting you, body and soul. His hand quickly returns to its bruising grip on your cheeks, and you feel the heat of the pistol in his other hand pressing into your stomach. His finger isn’t near the trigger, and somehow you don’t think he would hurt you with it, but you suddenly realise the danger you could be in right now. You and Arthur hold a long-standing feud, your respective gangs have been fighting for even longer than that. The outlaw just executed a man ruthlessly for simply being in the wrong place, his own property, at the wrong time, and now he holds your life in his hands, literally. There is nothing stopping him from widening those jaws and consuming his little stray right here and now…

And what a way to go it would be.

You can’t bring yourself to care, can’t let the fear serve any other purpose than to pump the adrenaline around your veins and carry you back to the climax you’re searching for.

“Gonna cum, little stray? Come apart for me all over again? Hate me all you want, you n’ I know what you do for me when we’re all alone. Cum, little stray. Now.”

And you do. You come apart not with a fizzle but a bang. A blinding, screaming bang, where your limbs tighten around Arthur and your skin fizzles at any contact. He never stops his thrusts, each one seeming to renew the sensations spreading around your whole body like waves lapping and crashing against you. The gun presses into your flesh, serving as a reminder of the danger Arthur is capable of inflicting, yet it only heightens everything. You moan into his ear, your tongue running across his lobe not by design but because you have completely lost control of yourself. In this moment, you’re Arthur’s. And you feel too fucking good to even worry about it. 

The fear that he could snap your neck with so little effort, or pull the trigger of his gun and blast you to bits, lingers, spurring on your frantic movements while you grind needily against his own thrusts. Part of you wishes he would, so the both of you could find some twisted hellish realm where this union makes sense and you can rule it, together. The big bad wolf and his little stray. It’s an alarming thought to have, but who could blame you? If the devil himself could make you feel this good you’d bow to him too, weapons or none.

Arthur’s movements become sloppier, less controlled, and his grip on your cheeks tightens. He’s close, while you’re still riding your high. There’s a sharp aching where the gun presses hard into your ribcage, giving your future self the perfect excuse as to why you didn’t make Arthur pull out. He curses loudly, though it comes out more a growl, before biting hard into your neck. He surely draws blood with the force of his teeth against your skin, but it’s difficult to find it in you to care. He’s pounding you so hard into the glass you’re worried it’ll smash beneath you, but being shredded by broken glass seems an easy punishment for the sins you’ve committed again with this man.

You both come down together, glistening with blood and sweat and tears. Arthur remains in the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breaths over your skin. There’s a few seconds of a silence only broken with exasperated gasps, and then a wince when Arthur slides out of your drenched cunt. Now you can actually think straight, your hand shoots to your swollen lips at the sight of the deceased gunsmith beside you. Arthur is covered in blood, and you’re no better, but by God does it suit him. 

Having not gotten fully undressed, save for resting his jeans below his hips, Arthur takes no time at all to right himself, holstering his gun and pulling his jacket over the bloodstained shirt. He looks over to you, the harsh shadows cast by the moon only exaggerating his smirk. It takes everything you have not to flinch when he reaches for you, though the panic quells when he runs his thumb gently over your jaw, leaving a scarlet trail in his wake.

“See you on the next job, little stray.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #low honour arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption #romeo and juliet

[smolweeblets]

Hi! Could I request a Yelena x reader? Nothing specific, I just like seeing stuff for her.

General Yelena headcanons

GN reader

-Despite her looks shes actually just a softy. Many people would think otherwise but seriously show this woman some love shed do anything for you.

-Cold ass feet. Youre just trying to sleep but you get assaulted by her freezing toes. They literally feel like ice cubes against your legs.

-Really resilient against the cold. Its her Russian roots I swear. Wait, yeah thats an hc too,

-Shes russian. Speaks to you in it sometimes, maybe just the pet name here and there. Makes you melt each and every time.

-If she was a dog she'd be a borzoi. You know those long and lanky ass dogs that were being memed in tiktok for a while? Yeah, those guys.

-On the topic of pets, i already posted something about this before but i totally see her having a rat with an unsettlingly human name like gertrude or something.

-The things I would sacrifice to hear this woman's morning voice LORDD. Like shes just so groggy and disoriented but she gives you a soft smile and talks to you in that deep raspy voice… my knees are buckling.

-She doesnt like talking a lot in the mornings, sadly. She needs a few minutes to feel ready to talk, but dont worry, youll still hear the morning voice, just gotta wait a while for it. It's fully worth it, promise.

-Okay but you gotta be ready if you want to hear it because this woman wakes up at the asscrack of dawn.

-Huge morning person, makes her feel productive. She sleeps at like 9 pm and is grumpy if you make her stay awake for much longer.

-Shes a loner. This woman is such a loser.

-Okay no she has that charisma and knows how to get what she wants but she doesnt have a lot of actual friends, she thinks of most people as good acquaintances at best.

-Definitely uses you as an armrest when youre standing. Its the rules.

-Huge fucking romantic but is SO awkward abt it its so cute.

-Brings you flowers and shes so flushed when she gives them.

-”Uh, here you go-” She hands you the flowers and gazes at you with so much affection and at your happy expression. It actually hurts how much she loves you.

-Not a huge fan of pda, but will indulge you if you feel especially touchy.

-That being said, loves randomly holding you in her arms when you two are just standing there. Like, waiting in a line or something? Her head is resting atop yours and her arms are around you.

-Okay so I kinda imagine her to be similar to ice bear from we bear bears they just have similar vibes

A/n: Thank you so much for requesting this, finally gave me motivation to write. Ive been wanting to write for her more but have had no ideas so I hope something like this is okay. Really tired of ppl just portraying her as a hot manipulative mommy like pls shes allowed to have a personality

#yelena x reader aot #yelena x reader #yelena #yelena x you aot #yelena x y/n #yelena x y/n aot #yelena aot

[goth-mami-writer]

A post about my life lately.

(If you fucking care ✌️🫠)

⚠️Tw: There's some mentions in this that may stir certain emotions regarding✨️pro-choice✨️mindsets (abortion) and vomiting. So if you think that's gonna upset you, don't interact pls. Thx.⚠️

Soooooooo-

I've been away. And here's why without being theatrical - I found out I was pregnant again. And....I wasn't happy.

I'm a mom to 1 already and...I knew that I couldn't do it again. It's hard, to be as frank as I can. The physical effect of pregnancy on the body is something...I despise? I had awful, TERRIBLE sickness the first time anddd fuck, it was the same this time.

Yeah, no. You can go ahead and count me out.

Well- Were you using BiRtH CoNtrOl?!, you may ask?

Yes. Abso-fuckin-lutely. I had an IUD inserted two months after I had my first kid. Cause FUCK THAT. I knew I didn't want another. My son's awesome. Being his mom is my reason for living. But pregnancy is not for me.

So- this being the decision, I fucking called the one person I goddamn trust and that's Mera. ❤️ @short-honey-badger

And bitch, did we plan a trip. We had to drive OUT OF OUR STATE TO RECEIVE THE CARE NECESSARY. (That's a topic for another day tho t-.-t )

✨️Anyways,✨️ Mera is a badass and drove me to said appointment as I'm fighting the most debilitating nausea. All I could stand to eat without vomiting was fucking popsicles and slushies. So yum at 5 am, BTW.

~But here's where shit gets wild~

I show up, ready to have this done. Get on with my life. Maybe start writing again because I know that I'll feel better. The nurses and staff were incredible and sweet. But there was one problem.....my IUD was out of place, they tell me.

Okay? I knew that, right? Obviously, that's why it didn't work and I got pregnant. Makes sense.

NONONONO. I'm laying on a table out of my home state, laughing gassed out of MY FUCKING MIND, with a lady doctor telling me in the calmest demeanor that she can that I need FUCKING ✨️EMERGENCY SURGERY✨️

LIKE. HOW DO YOU REACT...TO THAT?

So...the staff is obviously letting me recover from the procedure- THE ONE I JUST HAD. and now I'm being fed all this medical jargon basically saying that if I didn't receive surgery, this IUD was gonna tear its way into my other organs because it was already embedded in the muscle tissue of my abdomen.

Fucking AWESOME.

Luckily, all these people were contracted to the local hospital in this city and they were going to let them know I was coming over and all that good jazz, but I basically needed to get over there. Like...now. RIGHT NEOW. 💀

So then it's me and Mera just navigating parts of a city that we just DO NOT fucking know, trying to get me to said hospital where this surgery needed to take place. It wasn't far but goddamn this hospital had absolute SHIT parking. It was a monster to fucking navigate as well. Luckily, I was on some good pain meds that were keeping me kinda stable, but ooohhhh, not for long.

We get checked into the ER and yeah, I started HURTING. Not to mention also, viciously nauseous once again. But this time, because I hadn't eaten anything since 5am and I was told that it would basically be fucking ILLEGAL for me to eat again until I got off this operating table.

Fucking. AWESSOMMEE.

(I thought you said it was an emergency, why didn't they have you in OR yet??)

I HAD TO WAIT FOR THESE MFS TO GET THERE, HOLD ON.

My particular case needed staffing of crazy ass doctors to oversee this procedure. I swear to God, I met like 5 people in the four hours that I sat in the emergency room before being prepped for surgery.

I was rolled out for testing like four different times! All kinds of shit just being shot into my IV while I'm still fucked up on the first dose of morphine that's still whooping my ass in and out of consciousness as Mera is at my bedside like,

"O.o u okay?" (Bc she's an angel that stayed with me during the entirety of this fucking insanity like T-T)

FINALLY. I got into my fucking surgery. It went fine, everything is fine. But goddamn, I'm exhausted. Mera was exhausted. We'd been up for almost 24hrs at this point in the day and now I'm finally being admitted into an actual room for post-op recovery.

That next morning before my discharge, I was let know the gravity of my situation and things like that. I was reassured that nothing I did caused this IUD to move. And that meant one thing-

It was never inserted correctly in the first place.

✨️So✨️ let me be the first one to tell you- please. For the love of FUCK. Go get your IUD checked. Via fucking ultrasound.

Don't let that sassy nurse stick a speculum in your fuggin hoo-haa and tell you she can see the strings so you're good.

Guess what? EVERYONE SAW MY STRINGS TOO.

Check your IUD!!! Or you're gonna be knocked up, getting a little pregnancy✨️deletion✨️ in a strange state where a really nice lady doctor is gonna tell you that you're like weeks away from internally bleeding and need dire abdominal surgery to prevent that. And all you're gonna have is your bestfriend who you feel terrible for bc she didn't sign up for any of this bullshit. But there you are, passed out on morphine, hungry, confused, nauseous and WAITING FOR SURGEONS.

GO TO THE GYNECOLOGIST. NEOW. 💀

#love my moots #moots

[kiwibongos]

i dont really infodump in general at all but im doing it cus i need some ideas off my chest. do you freak with angst? perhaps an unhappy ending?

// sdr2 chapter 5+ending spoilers ig. kuzuhina au baybee

ok im, pretty positive that if there's two people left then neither of them can get out together and just split the prize bc that'd be pretty bullshit (idek if they ever cleared it up, imo tho one man standing would be the most logical)

so what if nagito DID bomb the island, taking everyone out?

fyi ive written this nearly entirely so im sparing u with a little summary(this is not a summary)

so bombs are spread all around the islands forreal this time. after nagito's video, a chain of them went off right as they were running out of the plushie factory, barely on time. everything started crumbling around them, and all the others were downed one by one, either caught in the explosions or crushed underneath falling structures

but somehow haj and fuyu survived, the others killed right in front of their own eyes. but they ran away, retreating to the warehouse, to which they find nagitos body. and the realization hits– it’s just them now, they’re the only ones left, and neither of them know what to do

im sure u can imagine hajime was fucking RAGING at that point just breaking down and stressing out

they didnt know what to do, they couldnt do anything, but fuyuhiko was here, so the first thing they did was to get off the island since the fire was spreading. from there, they wander around, hoping maybe then something would happen, but there wasn't any sight of monokuma or monomi. all they could do was look onto the destroyed islands, before they inevitably wait in a safe spot at the military base, officially at a dead end

they just kinda sit there for a while, not knowing what to do. but they cant wait here forever, and fuyuhiko knows what he has to do

eventually, he hands hajime a pistol(acquired from the truck of firearms outside), and asks him to kill him so it could finally be over

obviously hajime refuses at first, but fuyuhiko begs him, because he isn’t a good person and he doesn’t have much else to live for, while hajime has singlehandedly saved everyones asses, he deserved to escape more than anyone else here. by now, hajime was crying, but they’ve been at this dead end for so long, he knew he had to do it or else they’d never be getting off this island. so hajime just holds em close and says his final goodbyes (maybe a kiss teehee) before making it quick for him

pulling that trigger hurts him more than anything, ANYWAY BOOM hajime is the winner, simulation ends

also postgame babey; when things end here, hajime would wake up from the simulation, and since he never got to choose his own future alongside everyone else, he wakes up as izuru kamukura. he's not entirely empty i think, izuru and hajime still would have "merged" afterwards, so it'd moreso just be hajime somewhere in there half of the time just mourning but its deeply suppressed into the deepest part of his mind, but thats a wholeee thing to get into

(also very late edit but i did end up writing this as a fic entirely! the brainrot consumes. just wanted to say.)

#kuzuhina #bickering #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #hajime hinata #i guess what could come after is up to you as interpretation #to summarize weird izuru brain stuff just imagine that scene when izuru(hajime) cries at chiakis death #itd be like that regarding the whole situation. so he still feels. kind of. #also honestly i would love an alternative to this but in the format of soniaki(or any other chiaki ship) #her surviving as the traitor knowing her efforts and nagitos plan went to waste at the same time #so she reveals herself to sonia #and they have the same tragic ending #ive been writing/thinking of a whole lotta angst recently #anyway ill just let this collect dust here #im a one braincelled organism without a name #danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #danganronpa v2 goodbye despair #danganronpa v2

[swearyshera]

Advance apology for the long ask in a likely sea of 'em. A lot of people talk about wishing they could experience something they love again for the first time, this series was genuinely as close to that as I've ever felt. Just given the span of time my attention flucuated on and off but once the latter half of s4/s5 began my attention was absolutely nailed to your feed. Its up with Dragon Ball Z Abridged as parody series that become so dramatically effective they become a valid or definitive way to experience the series. Goddamned sensational.

Your portrayals of the characters soar. They provide a hilarious, cruder take on each that still cuts right to the soul of who these people are and lays it bare, which I think is the mission of any good-natured parody. Adora, Catra, Glimmer, Scorpia, Bow, Prime etc. There is not one that does not shine. It tackled a ton of issues and misgivings I had about canon, and even elevated or clarified many scenes and arcs through addressing them a more direct fashion. You took full advantage of not having to dress up and dance around the dark subjects canon was sort of doomed to handle inadequately given its age bracket and thematic priorities. Many scenes were jawdropping. Ive raved about it before, but your scene with Glimmer actually talking about her mom with Catra still leaves me gobsmacked every time I reread it. Your big moments towards the finale btwn Adora and Catra are obviously sublime and tie their wonderful arc off fantastically, but in my heart of hearts that cell talk will be the crown jewel of this project. Loved seeing the LGBT message take center stage in way canon had to hold back. To paraphrase Tolkien, I'm can't count myself among those gifted people, and youve def got a target audience in mind, but if youve ever worried if your stories resonate on a quote unquote "more universal" level, I promise you can put those worries to bed. Since becoming an adult ive intentionally sought out more and more queer-inclusive/created stories and I havent regretted it a bit, and the rising tide of fascist sexist/homo/transphobic bile in politics gets more and more frightening. But I've also seen how strong and resilient LGBT people are in the face of it, empowering themselves in no small part thru stories like yours. Please don't ever give up on your art. The world needs artists like you. Sorry if I come off pretentious or condescending, I feel like that when I try to get everything I think out at once. I'll be among the first to come running if you ever start another project like this or make something on an even grander scale. Thank you a thousand times for this. Also writing a wholeass sitcom pilot based on an offhand quasi-joke I made is the most weirdly touching thing I think anyones ever done "for me" (at least nominally cuz of me), especially a stranger. So thank you for that too.

Aw, you'll make me cry, you know! I think you've understood everything I wanted to do with this strip (or at least, when I started thinking beyond just 'characters saying fuck'), and... yeah, it's been an incredible journey, both for the blog and for me personally.

I've always tried to keep the parody good-natured. You can often tell, particularly in parody, when the creator dislikes one particular character (I mean, Horde Prime was probably the exception here), but I love all of them, so it really comes from a place of love. It's quite odd because I never set out to "fix" the show, and I wouldn't want to, but some things I've done seem to have had such an impact that a lot of people think I have done just that.

The Glimmer/Catra conversation is absolutely one of my favourite things I've written from this. It's such a pivotal moment in both their stories and character development, and I am truly humbled that multiple people have called it 'better than canon'. Like... I'm just some person trying to be funny and occasionally serious, and people are saying something I wrote is better than what a team of experienced professional writers did? Give over, no... But it's still a moment I can be proud of.

I won't be stopping writing things. This whole blog has given me a new lease of life and something to aim towards. I've got an excellent pilot script pretty much finished, and I do want to bring Hellspawn up to that standard too (thank you for suggesting someone make a Sweary Frosta sitcom - I'm someone!). That may well involve a complete re-write, but I'll be sure to share it.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kind words along the way. It really keeps me going :)